A warm cool village, dredged up never before in the city. The muffle, unclear and not so wise; but it’s the muffin man you look for, a cup cake, to see a cup cake seeded over your table. A lose bale bottom pant and hairs long and speckled hastily over loud noisy colours of his shirt. Running over thin slippers, catching shadows as a wise wild child. The muffin man has a story, I am here to tell.
In those eyes, dreams in streams blows, “GAUTAM BHAGAT” is what they spell to call, the muffin man. It’s the muffin, it’s the muffin. Like a breath alive and living. But now, the young mustache over the face, shaved and sometimes dusty, drops of sweat falls, as gentle as muffin.
Walking over the dead weed and leaves, he turned to me to speak; I cared less for him. Nothing on the face of God’s great earth impresses me, if not legacy. Holy Grail must be a quest, but the Muffin man turned down all the systematic chaos and chose to walk alone for the cups of cake. Brushing his hairs, the glitter in his eyes had its own plan. He rubbed his palm twice or thrice maybe, and kept them over his eyes, to feel the warmth. Rolled down few stones from the stone he sat and sing.
They then one day, when the bell used to rang; teacher said:” you can’t have muffin if you can’t eat your meat, jhad jungle ka ladka(boy from jungle).” I thought Mougli was a hero”, said the boy and laughed. Sand of time got empty in no time. The boy turned out to be a Muffin Man. Life, my friends, is more sarcastic than any mock epic.
In the kitchen of his own, in the woods where no path can take you for a walk, he walked alone. He got the ingredients and made few friends and shared honey while making muffin. Then it was dawn, and dusk was a night away. The wolves bite, and the muffin man was about to die.
Sages foretell, the wounds heal. They healed but changed the muffin man, he grew his mustache , and time made him wise. He opened his secret box and took out his wisdom again. Muffin was again on the table, he thought to take it to the city and share with the ones he love.
Time has got wheels; the dusk bows, if you think you can make muffin, you can! Says the Muffin man.
Revolution! Revolution! They all exclaimed, as the words passed to different eyes and ears. The dread world of “coal and corruption:, got a face to fear. The time they are now a-changing, they say in fear. Coalgaadi.com was born. But it was the muffin.
The idea behind coalgaadi.com is to bring the age old outdated “road sale coal business” to online platform. He once, to my surprise, said; “I am twenty five years old having thirty years of experience, so he did at many other platforms; its family business he meant, fearless and wise at the same time of course he is. Rajrappa, a holy land, by Goddess’s grace he, the Muffin man shares his cups of cakes with twenty five other individuals. The company did business of one crore rupees this 2017 February, it was the first month of business.
Some people like to have a cup of cake; he chose to make his own muffin, over the roof above the mountain, a home of hope and dream, he built and feeds her every day. The Tomorrowland awaits with its wings wide open, he takes his flight up above in the sky. But it’s the muffin that makes the muffin man.
P.S. This post was originally written by “Vijyata Singh” and it was unpublished.